


Extra Innings: A Collection of Prompts, Drabbles, and Singles

by brightblue



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Responses to prompts and other miscellaneous drabbles, Story Collection, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9829805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightblue/pseuds/brightblue
Summary: A place to keep my collection of prompts, drabbles, and one-shots. I'm fairly certain they will all be Bawson.





	1. Backwards cap

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: From an anon: "im not great at coming up with prompt, but maybe somethign featuring the backward baseball cap on mike? inspired by that gifset you reblogged :)" (Essentially: Mike Lawson in his backward cap.)

“What are we, a bunch of cheerleaders?” 

Melky’s comment had earned a chorus of boos from the other infielders and a solid punch to the arm from Sonny. Ginny had said nothing, just taken a moment to bask in the changing attitude of her teammates. 

The remark rings in her head now, though, and she is just waiting for a chance to throw it back in Melky’s face. Because for all grumbling and complaining the team had about participating in the charity carwash in the parking lot of Petco, they certainly seemed to be having a blast now. Most of the players had lost their shirts after about an hour in the unseasonably warm winter sun. Shortly after, Salvi and Dusty had begun a pool to see who could earn the most in donations and it had been non-stop preening and flexing since then. So, yeah, really not any better than a bunch of cheerleaders in bikinis. 

Rolling her eyes when Ellis begins to rub soapy water over his pecs for a car full of hooting college girls, Ginny turns back to her task of collecting donations and passing out swag to cars at the end of the line. The trainers have pretty much limited her to the cash box to avoid any strain on her elbow. She gives a quick smile and wave to a car that’s exiting the parking lot when she sees several camera phones pointed in her direction. Is this day over yet? Somehow she’s not feeling the same pep rally vibe as her teammates.

Her gaze slides over to her captain because, to her irritation, she can’t help but notice where he’s at _all the time_. Lawson still wears his Padres t-shirt over his athletic shorts as he chats with a family in a mini-van. Though he’s on scrub duty right now, true to form, he’s managed to avoid any real dirty work by engaging the drivers in idle chit-chat, much to their delight. 

Of course he catches her staring and throws a nod in her direction. Ginny turns on her heel with a huff and goes back to sorting cash. Still, every few seconds, she finds her eyes lifting to him. She tells herself it’s because she doesn’t have anything better to do at the moment. That watching Blip nitpick Melky’s washing technique is getting a little old. But she knows it’s because there's something irresistible about Mike Lawson, Future Hall of Famer, at work. She can never _not_ watch him, whether it’s hitting bombs, giving one of his stupid speeches, or turning his charm on his fans. It’s that last one that’s striking her today. She still finds herself getting anxious navigating the constant onslaught of photo requests and praise and little girls wanting hugs. It’s gotten better, but she knows it visibly wears on her after awhile. Mike shows no such fatigue. She doesn’t know if it’s his giant ego (probably) or years of practice (maybe, if she’s being generous), but she finds herself just as starstruck by him during times like this as she was during her first day in the bigs.

And, yeah, it’s totally his personality that has her distracted and not the way his damp t-shirt clings to his shoulders, highlighting his broad chest, and the way those shorts hug that ass as he leans against the van. 

“Baker!” Javanes snaps her out of her reverie, waving and pointing at the growing line of cars waiting to pay. 

Shaking her head, Ginny gets back to work and reminds herself that he’s just her captain, just her catcher, just her _ friend _ and that she has no business wondering how his skin, warmed and slightly reddened by the sun, would taste under her lips… 

“Hey, rookie!”

She trips over a hose. Dammit.

“What, Lawson?” She snips, showing no reaction to her misstep even as his eyes twinkle at her, and places a hand on her hip as she comes to stand near her captain.

Mike gestures at the convertible full of what Ginny can best guess are over-aged groupie rejects, women who should really have something better to do with their time. “These lovely ladies here offered up $100 bucks each for me to take my shirt off. Whaddya think?”

Biting her lip, it takes Ginny every ounce of strength not to roll her eyes. It’s for charity, she reminds herself. “Taking your clothes off for money? Testing out some post-retirement options?”

“It’s for a good cause _ , _ ” Mike smirks, stepping toward her. And away from the drooling housewives.

Ginny shrugs. “True. I hope you didn’t tell them that you’d probably have done it for free.” She shrugs at the women, doing her best to play up the moment because, for however much she hates it at times, this is what they’re supposed to do. The women laugh like they are all in on some big secret together. 

“Think of the children, rook,” Mike murmurs more to her than his audience. His wink is directed more in her direction, too, and then he is peeling his shirt off in one swift move, yanking it from the back over his head and somehow catching his cap in his hand as it tumbles off. The women in the convertible hoot and holler; one holds her phone up to catch the action. Ginny grits her teeth hard. 

“Are you  _ serious _ right now?” Ginny arranges her face into a photo-friendly look of friendly exasperation, just in case she’s in the frame, as Mike gives the women a pose and then a bow. 

“Now one with Ginny!” 

Before she can get out a protest, Mike has an arm around her, pulling her flush to his side, her body pressing up against his skin. On reflex, Ginny’s arm wraps around his back and her breath hitches as she registers the expanse of warm, slightly sweaty Mike-skin she has contact with. 

“I will murder you.” She digs her nails into his side with intent. She feels Mike’s flinch but it only makes him squeeze her closer. Wearing her best fake smile, Ginny leans into her captain. On autopilot, they hold and shift their gaze in perfect rhythm to ensure each of the screeching women gets a good shot (and likely everyone else in the parade of cars.) 

“I would rather it be you doing the deed than that red-head with the hungry look in her eyes. I swear she was ten seconds away from clipping off a lock of my beard.” His words are mumbled through his smile as he maintains a firm grip on her arm. And if she didn’t know any better, she would swear he is enjoying the effort it’s taking her not to stumble into him completely. 

“I thought you liked red-heads,” she can’t help but tease, though her tone isn’t exactly light. 

That does it. His parry back is to yank her hard toward him, so she tumbles and he catches her. She shrieks and laughs at the same time. Her world shifts and tilts. For a dizzy second, she doesn’t know which end is up and then he has her dipped like a freaking ballroom dancer with no grace whatsoever. 

“Lawson!” She wants to be mad, is really annoyed actually, but finds herself looking up at him— her posterboy, shirtless and strong, cradling her like it’s nothing. She finds that she gets a really good look at his face because he’d put his cap back on backwards and she hates that she finds something so bro-y, so irresistible. He looks years younger despite the familiar lines on his face. He’s beaming down at her and they’ve attracted a bit of a crowd now. She recognizes Javanes’ wolf whistle.

“Okay, okay,  _ uncle, _ ” she gasps, scrambling to find her footing as she pushes away from him. 

Chuckling, he helps her right herself and takes a step back to keep their distance respectable. Ginny finds her breath, touching the blotches of heat on her cheeks self-consciously. Damn him. He’s back to schmoozing the carful of wannabe groupies, collecting their cash and offering them quick, one-armed hugs. Something burns in Ginny’s stomach and, swiping quickly at her lips, she looks away. 

The convertible moves down the car wash line. Mike makes a show of the money for the team photographer, who’s snapping shots down on one knee. Ginny is called back to her duties so she turns, feeling suddenly clammy and dizzy. Her skin still buzzes where it made contact with his and it makes that weird feeling in her stomach intensify. 

In her daze, she hardly notices Blip walk past with a muttered comment about high school shenanigans. Glancing around at her teammates, shirtless and silly on this sunshine day, she can’t help but feel horrendously awkward in her t-shirt and cut-offs. There is something so high school about the whole thing, it's true, and she wishes, yet again, for it all to be over. 

“Rookie!” Mike calls for her again and Ginny wastes no time in hitting him with her most frustrated glare. Yes, definitely high school, with the captain of the varsity baseball team apparently having a really intense beard and crow’s feet, true, but still looking completely, disgustingly  _ hot _ with his bare-chest and backward cap. He gives her that lopsided grin that always melts her just a little bit. “Brown and curly. That’s my thing now.”

With a wink and a chomp of his gum, he’s back to sponging off the next car in line. Ginny is stuck to her spot, blinking without seeing, her heart pounding all out of rhythm.

Yeah. This day was definitely a terrible idea.


	2. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you are still taking prompts! - mike soothing Ginny through a nightmare or panic attack or some situation like that"
> 
> Hope this suffices!

She never remembers the nightmares. Just that she always wakes up with a jolt, soaked with sweat, the world spinning. She chokes for air as she struggles to put the world back in order— this is  _ here _ and  _ now _ , not  _ there _ and _ then _ . Still, her mouth tastes bitter, like rust, and glaring white spots dot across her vision. She claws desperately at her sheets, grasping for daylight. Breathes through it. Drinks a glass of water.

But when it happens on the team bus, not in safe anonymity of her hotel room, she doesn’t pull through quite as easily. She’s being pitched forward. It’s too bright. She grabs at the air. A hoarse, broken cry startles the silence and sets her heart racing. Once it registers as her own voice, she can’t find a breath in the thick, hot air that threatens to envelop her.

“Shit, Baker, breathe _. Breathe! _ ”

A warm, solid weight pushes down between her shoulder blades. It helps her fingers find purchase on her knees as she bends forward, huffing for air. 

Slow, stinging tears drip onto her jacket as she rests her head on her arms. That weight on her back increases its pressure. A hand, she realizes, trying to force her breath in time with its rhythmic circles. 

It takes a minute, maybe five, for her lungs and heart to return to their normal patterns. She focuses on the whoosh of air in through her nose and out through her mouth then adds to that rhythm the whir of the bus tires down the highway, the hum of traffic, the gurgle-snort- _ puff _ of Buck’s snores…

“Good, Gin, good.” A loud exhale filled with something like relief. “You okay?” 

Feet planted solidly on the floor, Ginny slowly rises to sit upright. The hand falls away. She blinks back her initial dizziness. Heat floods her cheeks, her body, when she registers that it’s Mike Lawson, her captain, sitting across the aisle from her, eyes glittering in concern under the dim night lights of the bus. 

She looks away. Her hands flutter around for her water bottle. “Yeah. Fine.”

Mike finds his first. He presses the cool metal canister into her palm. “Panic attack?”

Ginny ignores the question in favor of a long pull of water. Her eyes slide to meet his briefly before she takes another chug. Yeah, she can’t handle that right now.

“No,” she shrugs. She wipes her brow with the sleeve of her jacket. The corner of her mouth as well. If she was out enough to have a nightmare, she probably was out of it enough to drool. Mike’s gaze remains a heavy weight on her tender psyche. She busies herself with adjusting her ponytail and removing the headphones that were uselessly circling her neck. “Just a nightmare,” she adds, voice quiet even to her own ears. He won’t look away.  _ Just look away, dammit.  _ She slumps down in her seat. Crosses her arms across her chest. Bits her lip.  _ Defense. _

“Then that must’ve been one hell of a nightmare, rook.” Mike’s voice is low and rumbling in the darkness. Aside from Buck’s snoring and the occasional sniffle from the seasonal allergy afflicted Melky, the bus is silent. Mike is wide-awake though; she knows he never really sleeps on the bus. Sure, he might close his eyes for a few but he’s not like the rest of the guys, dropping like stones into their seats, with their neck pillows and fleece blankets to pass the late night road trip back to San Diego.

Ginny just shrugs. “Don’t remember.”

Picking at a thread grazing her wrist, Ginny hopes that Mike will just give up on her after a few minutes. But, annoyingly, he continues to drink her in, so intense and unwavering, that she eventually succumbs to the pressure and whirls on him with all the irritation she can muster.

“ _ What _ ?”

“What was it about?”

Rolling her eyes, Ginny takes another sip of water. Ignores the flash- _ bang _ -crash of memories across her mind. “I don’t remember. I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

“I don’t sleep on the bus.”

“I know. It’s really irritating.”

“Why is that? Doesn’t seem to affect you, Sleeping Beauty.”

Ginny scowls at him. “Well now all your chatter is keeping me awake.”

Mike shrugs. It’s far too self-confident, like he has the trail of this conversation all plotted out. “By all means. Go back to sleep.”

With a sigh, Ginny eases her eyes closed. She slides her butt down her seat so she can curl her knees closer to her chest, propping them on the seat in front of her. She flips her headphones back on, gives her shoulders a roll, and hits play on her relaxation playlist. She shifts in her seat. Focuses on the music for half a song. Shifts in her seat again.

“Dammit,” she mutters as she tosses her headphones down next to her and drops her feet to the ground.

“Problem, rookie?”

“Yeah! You!” She makes a face at her catcher. She tries not to be affected by the shimmer in his eyes. “Now I can’t sleep!”

“I thought you were fine.” Mike pretends to be disinterested in her now, which is ten kinds of irritating. He scrolls through Twitter on his iPad, too fast to actually be reading anything. It’s her turn to stare at him until he breaks. Which he does. Very quickly. “Can I help in some way, Baker?” He lifts an eyebrow at her, chomping on his gum. It’s the open spread of his arms, meant to be a dismissal but, as they both know, are really an invitation.

“Shove over,” she grumbles, barely standing up before shuffling across the aisle and giving his arm a push toward the window. There’s a whole song and dance where he yelps in complaint and she pretends like he forced her into the whole thing. He makes her be the one to demand he lift his arm to accommodate her, but he’s the one to drape his warm-up jacket over her body once she rests her head on his chest. 

She focuses on the solid beat of his heart under her ear. Inhales the fresh, soft scent of his beard as his chin grazes her forehead. It doesn’t itch or tickle, she notes. Her arm wraps around his middle without thought, helping her snuggle closer into his solid mass. His arm is heavy across her back, grounding her. She doesn’t bother with her headphones again. His occasional muttered comments as he reads the news are soothing enough and she wants to be able to hear if anyone around them begins to stir, or worse, takes notice of their situation.

“Comfy there, Baker?”

“Mmm.” 

“Got another hour til we’re home. Just relax. I’ve got you.” 

His words are soft. An afterthought. They sweep any lingering dust of her nightmare away. She exhales and drifts off. She never remembers the nightmares, anyway.


	3. You should be kissed and often

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Ginny play a movie quote game. It's totally just a game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, responsibility parties clearly know who they are... Movie quotes are not mine but are sure inspirational.

Ginny leans against the bar, ready for her second beer before the happy hour crowd even has the decency to show up. Their early afternoon game had been a bit of a blowout mess and the team had gone straight to the bar to lick their wounds. She supposes she should drink water instead, the afternoon sun had been relentless, but she got pulled after only three innings so she figures she deserves it. Even more so because Noah is in town for business, as he claimed, and had come to watch her play. Worse than disappointment at her own performance, she dreads him trying to cheer her up with platitudes or making her explain exactly what went down. She just wants to wallow and be done with it. Move on. 

The bartender is spending far too much time punching aimlessly at his computer screen and he hasn’t noticed her waiting. Not that she minds. 

“Hey! Another round!” 

She rolls her eyes. Mike has no qualms about causing a scene, of course, and the young man hustles to serve them. “Thanks,” she says dryly.

“I thought otherwise you’d be content to wait around here all day.” There’s a hint of arrogance to his words that irks her, though she’s careful not to show it.  “Where’s the assertiveness, Baker? Leave it in the bullpen with your screwgie? Or is it nonexistent like your fastball?” He winks, draining the last of his bottle and slamming it down. 

“Fuck off, Lawson,” she grumbles but doesn’t bother to move away when he leans his back against the bar beside her, their arms just barely brushing. 

She maintains firm eye contact with whatever game is playing on the TV behind the bar. Mike similarly seems to be watching the screens behind her. What’s taking that bartender so long? She tries to ignore the gentle tickle of Mike’s arm hair against her skin as he shifts. She notices a beat too late that it’s to look at her; feeling the intensity of his gaze causes her to tilt her head just slightly to meet his eyes. The heat she finds there startles her, paralyzes her. Then his gaze shifts to her lips.

“You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.” 

The words are spoken just an octave deeper than his normal tone, their slight huskiness prickling along her skin. It’s his tone and  _ the words _ and the glint in his darkened eyes that unleashes a wave of arousal that’s all for him, always, and never fails to catch her completely off-guard. She feels its sharp pull through her body, how quickly it steals her breath and fills her chest and then her stomach bottoms out; a stain of blush on her cheeks is the only external evidence of its power. 

“I....  _ What _ ?” It’s a strange, simultaneous inhale and exhale.

The beard hides the quirk in his lips but all the same she knows it’s there. She can feel the rush of blood under his skin, the sudden warmth of it, where their arms still touch or maybe it’s just her that’s burning from the inside.

He jerks his head in the direction of the screens behind her. She makes a slow turn, not trusting herself to move very quickly without toppling over, not wanting to look away from him.

_ Gone With The Wind _ is playing silently on one of the flat screens; someone put the classic movie channel on. 

_ Asshole _ , she wants to breathe, but anger seals her lips tight. She whirls back to the bar and finds her hands immediately picking at the label of her empty bottle with fierce determination. Did the bartender need to brew those damn beers himself or what?

On cue, their refills are plunked down in front of them. Ginny takes a healthy swig of her fresh drink. The cool liquid absolutely necessary to chill both her irritation and, annoyingly, her arousal.  _ Asshole! _

“You know... because the movie.” He waggles his eyebrow at her, in what she knows he thinks is an adorable gesture, and tips her beer in her direction. Ginny grimaces. She is just...done.

“Yeah. Okay.” She juts her chin out. Pushes up onto her toes, leveraging more height against the bar. If his eyes trail lazily down her figure, well, that’s just a bonus. “Let’s go with that.”

She hears him choke on his beer and is gratified. 

“Go with what?” He tries to save face, shifting his gaze around the bar. Ginny maintains eye contact with the sports highlights. She knows he’s tracking the presence of her boyfriend. She has no inclination to move. Satisfied with whatever he’s seen, Mike settles more comfortably against the bar; his eyes twinkle mischief. “Romantic movie quotes? Sure. I can play.” He pauses, cocks his head. “We’ll always have Paris.”

Ginny has no idea what game he’s at but she can’t not compete in it. She makes a face. Movies are not her strong suit. At all. Her mouth drops opening; her brain offers up nothing helpful. Mike starts stroking his beard, trying not to laugh at her floundering. She scowls then throws up her hands in defeat. “If you build it, he will come!”

He doubles over in laughter. “ _ Baker _ !” 

“What?!” Her tone is defensive. She slams a hand on the bar. “It’s a  _ romantic _ baseball movie.”

Mike can’t catch his breath. Ginny folds her arms over her chest.

“What’s so funny over here?” Noah is suddenly at her side, a hand on her back, which she deftly shrugs off. 

“Oh my god, Gin—

Ginny gets flustered at the sound of her name and whether he can’t get the whole thing out for lack of air or, worse, shortened it on purpose, it doesn’t matter. They were too close to the edge.  Awkward, dangerously flirty moment with her captain, over. 

Noah’s hand is back, touching her elbow. He looks at her, clearly wanting in on the joke. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” Ginny shakes her head tightly. “Just Lawson making fun of my movie quote.”

Taking a deep breath, Mike finally seems to pull himself together. He takes a sip of his beer, clears his throat, and narrows his eyes at Noah. There’s that wave again.

“So Casey,” Mike uses the gruff, captain voice on her boyfriend. Ginny looks skyward. “Quick, what’s the most romantic movie quote of all time?”

Noah is like them. Competitive. He doesn’t question the genesis of the game, just wants to win it. He gives her an affronted look, “and you quoted a baseball movie?”

“ _ Field of Dreams _ !” She crows, shaking her head.

“You’re killin’ me, Smalls,” Mike mutters and Ginny slugs him in the arm. Noah doesn’t seem to notice; he’s wracking his brain.

“I love you,” Noah throws out and this time Ginny tenses out of straight fear. But Noah doesn’t notice, he just finishes in his best Harrison Ford voice, “I know.” Then he laughs at himself and sips his whiskey. “Such a great line.”

“Yeah,” Ginny manages weakly. She catches Mike’s eye and ignores the sympathy she sees there.

An awkward silence settles over the three of them.

Mike shoots her a look.  _ Are you sure you want this guy? _ It seems to say.

_ Well, I can’t have you _ , she wills him to understand back.

But no words are said and their nonverbal communication isn’t  _ that  _ great.

“Well.” Mike finally breaks the silence, a slight crack in his voice. He clinks his beer bottle against hers. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

It sounds sadder than it should. Noah’s arm rests heavy around her waist. Ginny watches Mike turn and retreat back to their teammates. Ginny bites her lip. This is exactly what she doesn’t want them to be.

“Hey! Lawson!” She calls out, stepping away from Noah and toward her captain.

Mike turns back around, eyebrows raised in question. Ginny starts grinning at even just the thought of what she’s about to say.

“You know how to whistle, don’t you, captain?” She winks at him, cheeky smile in place. He brightens up, knowing, and it makes her feel a thousand times lighter.

“Yeah, rook…” He whispers, smirking hard.

“Just put your lips together...and blow,” she finishes, not bothering to hide the smolder in her gaze.

Mike lets out a hoot of appreciation. “And she’s back!”

Noah clears his throat. “Wow. You pulled that one out of nowhere…”

Shaking off the lingering fuzziness in her brain, Ginny shrugs. “My first apartment only got like three channels. I watched a lot of classics.”

“Hmm,” is all Noah says in response. His face is pensive, but not judgmental.

“Baker! Come tell the guys all about how heaven is just a ballpark in Iowa!” Mike bellows from their area. With a snort, Ginny gamely heads back to her team.

“I pulled one out in the end!”

“Yeah, unlike your showing on the mound today. Couldn’t find the plate to save your life. Awful Just miserable,” he teases, no shortage of affection in his gaze, and her teammates pile on accordingly.

“Ha ha.” Ginny ignores Noah’s worried gaze at their ribbing and plops down next to Blip in the booth, far away from Lawson. “Can we talk about something else now?”

“As you wish,” Mike dips his head in her direction and Ginny can’t fight her answering smile. Yeah, time with the team was just what she needed. Time to move on.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Say It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny becomes a little preoccupied with one of Mike's interview responses. Then we take a long detour through Fluff Town. But they deserve it.

After returning to her condo post-game, Ginny has a ritual of sorts. She usually makes herself a meal (something simple because her culinary talents have yet to expand beyond simple pastas, frittatas, and smoothies unless a box or microwave is involved.) She checks her email, Twitter, and Instagram. Then she cracks open a beer and settles into whatever show she’s binging on Netflix and passes out on the couch until she can drag herself to bed. 

Tonight, though, she has a singular focus as she comes home— the DVR.

Barely taking the time to drop her backpack and keys in their roughly designated areas, she kicks off her Nikes and beelines for the TV. Pulling up her recorded programs, she highlights the latest Padres pregame show and hits play. As the reporters drone on about potential game scenarios (spoiler: they win), Ginny fixes herself a bowl of cereal and grabs a beer. (Yeah, so just because she can cook slightly more complex things doesn’t mean easy isn’t the best option after a night game.)

Ginny’s draining the leftover milk from her bowl when the interview starts. She lets her bowl clatter into the sink, not caring how ridiculously fast she plants her butt back on the couch, attention focused.

_ “And now to Michelle over at Petco’s training room where she’s checking in on the status of Padres captain Mike Lawson, who has been on the DL for past two weeks. When can we expect his return? Michelle?” _

Ginny leans forward a bit on the couch as Mike rattles off a canned answer about his recovery. Knowing the party line all too well, Ginny tunes out Mike’s actual words about needing to rest his knees, build up strength, and spend some more time at first base. She knows the facts; she was eager to watch this interview to see the truth. She studies the familiar lines of his face in high definition. He’s in his standard workout gear— the navy high performance t-shirt clings to his biceps, highlighting their sculpted shape. Ginny wonders idly if he’s flexing a bit for the camera (he would) but the preoccupied way he occasionally swipes sweat off his brow or scratches at his beard suggests his mind is elsewhere. He’s been so frustrated lately; his knees giving him constant trouble, the clock on his probable last season winding down as he rides the bench. It’s been painful to watch, to stand by and not be able to do anything; heaven forbid she fuss over him too much. At least tonight she doesn’t have to pretend not to worry.

It’s his eyes that really get Ginny now. It’s in their dark intensity she finds comfort. This is Mike in full captain-mode, putting his team before his ego. It warms Ginny’s belly, or maybe that’s just the beer (it’s not.) Even the projected image of him, distant and removed as it is, stirs something in her as she is never far away from the feeling of his heavy gaze on hers. It’s addictive, really.

The interview turns to the Padres’ chances for that night’s game against the Giants. Ginny notes that Mike visibly lightens up; his mischievous grin curls up under his beard. Ginny takes a sip of her beer to avoid a matching smile of her own.

“ _ Well, Michelle, to be honest I like our chances tonight. Our record against the Giants this season speaks for itself. With Cueto on the mound, though, our offense is really going to have to be strong. I think his ERA is something like 2.9 when our teams square off? But he’s hovering around 4.5  in general recently so if we can focus, make our at-bats count, and avoid any unnecessary errors then we should be good. The way we’re playing lately really speaks to the hard work and dedication of the whole team. We really want to make this season count. _ ”

Ginny curls her knees up into her chest, hiding her grin, beyond proud of her captain. It’s been so hard for him every step of the way this season, knowing each milestone is likely his last. But he’s strong and he rarely lets it show. The team knows, though, and it’s made her and everyone else extra motivated to do their best.

“ _ And the Padres have Ginny Baker starting tonight, who has been solid for the team this season _ ,” Michelle interjects before Mike can continue.

If Ginny weren’t watching so closely, she’d maybe miss the smile intensifying on Mike’s face at the mention of her name. It fills her own chest with warmth and she tries to tell herself that she’s being crazy, that Mike isn’t that visibly proud to talk about her—  _ but _ , but he kinda seems like he is?

“ _ Ah, yes. Well, Michelle, you know how much I love Ginny Baker. _ ” There’s no hiding it. Mike’s face positively blooms as he talks, his eyes crinkling up in a hidden laugh; his body even sways a bit. He doesn’t wink but barely. Ginny chokes on her beer. Freezes. Did he just—?

“ _ She’s been a rock for us this season, putting up a respectable ERA each game. She’s confident and gets the job done. She’ll be integral to a win tonight. She’s a key member of our team every night honestly, even if she’s not on the mound. Her instinct is flawless. Her energy makes the dugout a great place to be. Yeah...she’s just, great. Clutch. Really, I can’t say enough. _ ”

Picking up her jaw off the floor, Ginny blinks at Michelle and wonders if she’ll press Mike on his praise for her. Mike is generally complimentary of his team, of course, but rarely effusive and that—- _ that  _ is gushing as far as she is concerned. Rambling and disastrous gushing. And what he said specifically....

“ _ Clearly _ !” Michelle just laughs, but doesn’t push any further. And it’s not like Mike isn’t well known for his long-winded speeches even outside of the team so… “ _ Now back to the studio _ !”

The camera pans away from Mike, who has that adorably boyish grin on his face that half irritates Ginny and half makes her want to tackle him to the ground. (Fine, so the irritation is mostly in how much she wants to tackle him to the ground.)

Fumbling for the remote, Ginny quickly rewinds the show a few seconds and watches the bit again. And again.

“... _ you know how much I love Ginny Baker _ …”

She has to remind herself to breathe. Her chest is heavy. She feels a bit dizzy. She knows he didn’t mean  _ loves _ loves her but...hearing him say the words like that… Her stomach is pitching and turning and she can’t stop herself from watching it over and over again until she memorizes the cadence of his voice, how it catches slightly on the L-word, like he can’t believe he said it like that, and then how her name just rolls so easily off his tongue. Teasing. Like he’s looking through the camera, past the usual viewers, and straight into her living room and now her hands are shaking. And she definitely needs to have Eliot check her TV settings because it seems like his cheeks turn a little pink when he says the words? But it’s definitely just that he was interviewed post workout…

_ Shit _ . She is in so much trouble.

* * *

Normally, when someone on the team bombs an interview, or at least says something stupid, the team is quick to use that as locker room fodder. This happens to Mike a fair amount, mostly because he’s the one most often interviewed (except for maybe Ginny, but annoyingly the guys go easier on her with that.) Ginny squares her shoulders as she enters the training room, expecting at least a few comments about Mike spewing hearts and rainbows for her all over his interview the night before. (Sonny is going to be so jealous, honestly.)

But there’s nothing.

Sure, Livan gives her shit for flirting with that reporter from Deadspin at her last presser (she was not) and Dusty is all over Blip for failing to acknowledge the infielders in his last interview. But no one says anything to Mike. And he’s right there! Doing intervals on the treadmill! Giving Stubs shit for not wiping the weight machines down when he’s done!

Ginny’s own workout suffers for it. She’s so preoccupied with the dynamics of her teammates she gives her own routine half effort, at best. When she find herself lounging on the mat rather than doing another set of crunches, Mike finally directs his attention toward her.

“Day off today, Baker?”

Ginny just scowls at him and forces herself to outlast Blip’s plank, something her abs will surely regret later.

So, yeah, maybe it was just in her head.

* * *

 

It can’t have just been in her head.

Ginny watches the interview another dozen times. Next time she sees Evelyn, she hedges— “did you see that interview with Mike? Where he said those things about me?”

But little registers on Evelyn’s radar lately that doesn’t have to do with wine pairings and place settings. “Mike  _ always  _ says stuff about you. You gotta be more specific, hon.”

Ginny worries her lip between her teeth until Ev’s stare exorcises the words out of her. “He said ‘you know how much I love Ginny Baker’ in an interview.” The words come out in a rush, sounding silly even to her own ears.

Evelyn’s face twists up in amusement. “Of course he did. What a sap. I bet Evers and his delicate ego loved that.”

Frowning, Ginny tries to organize her thoughts into a comment that doesn’t make her sound like a lovestruck teenager. She can’t. So she pouts. “Yeah…”

“That’s cute, Ginny. Just a few more months and you can climb that man like a tree.” Evelyn winks, but it’s lacking any real scandal. Her attention turns to a menu draft on her laptop. Ginny deflates a little, knowing she’s not going to get the girl talk she so desperately needs right now. Not that she couldn’t just come right out and ask. Ev would indulge her, no question, but...her buzz has faded and so she lets it go. “So what do you think of this font? Too middle-aged white lady?”

Without really looking, Ginny nods her head in agreement.

“You’re totally right.”

* * *

Ginny hates being on defense. She needs to be in control. So after a week of bumbling around Mike like he made this big confession (which,  _ he didn’t _ , she gets, but still), Ginny changes her game plan. This thing between them, whatever it is, isn’t going anywhere. Yes, they still have to finish out the season before anything can really be dealt with and that’s assuming Mike retires, a whole other issue she’s afraid to examine closely. But she cannot spend what little time they might have left on the field together getting giddy each team their hands brush or wondering if his lingering look means something more than she has chalk on her face again.

Because weird non-confession aside, she knows that Mike feels something for her. Something that isn’t just limited to rookie or friend or teammate. It’s easier for her to pretend the feelings are one-sided most of the time but all she has to do is conjure up the memory of his body pressing against hers outside Boardner’s—  his eyes sliding closed, the pressure of his hand on her back, the look of utter brokenness on his face when he broke the news that the trade fell through. And, yeah, there is still always the teammate thing, and Rachel, and their age difference and all those other obstacles but….she knows there are answers to those. Soon everything will change and none of those will matter anymore, not really.

It’s time to test the waters. On her terms. Because they’d decided (or she’d decided, rather) that she was making the calls here. And she’s done feeling like she has to tip-toe around him. She’s ready to make a play.

So she summons up all her courage in the face of potential embarrassment (less so from Mike, more so if anyone else catches on) and launches her offense: Next time the team goes out for drinks and they are working their way back to their table in the press of a drunk Saturday night crowd, she falls into step behind Mike. She likes how she can lean into his big body as he shields her from oblivious clubbers and prying fans. She keeps a steadying hand on his tricep but a near-miss with a server’s overflowing tray has her tracing her touch down his arm and linking her hand with his. He gives it a gentle squeeze, throwing her a sweet smile over his shoulder. It’s several minutes before she lets him go, enjoying the touch far too much.

On the next bus ride to L.A., she purposefully curls her body against his under the cover of darkness. He grumbles a bit at first; all for show, she assumes. She’s undeterred and feigns sleep as she nuzzles into his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent. The soothing rub to her back starts as an awkward pat but soon his warm palm travels down her back in comforting strokes. She doesn’t have to pretend to be sleeping after that. The way he barks at the few teammates who have the audacity to bring up their snuggling once they reach Petco, his eyes sparking with warning, his words sharp, gives her a warm, fuzzy feeling all over.

“Hey, grumpy bear, can I have a ride home?” She is pretty sure the question counts as poking said agitated beast with a stick. The answering look of anguish and befuddlement flooding his crinkled face nearly makes her giggle.

“Fine. Whatever.” He stomps off to his car, hardly looking back at her. Blip looks pained at the wink she shoots him.

Nothing happens then, nothing  _ can _ happen, as she’s sure they are both painfully aware. She’s a brat on purpose on the ride home, a little levity to the growing tension. She fiddles with his stereo settings and sings loudly to Justin Bieber. But it makes him laugh, that sort of pained chuckle of his, and it takes all her willpower not to run her fingers through his stupid beard and kiss the rosy apple of his cheek to tease him that he’s cute when he’s irritated.

“Thanks, Mike,” she murmurs, all sincerity and warmth, when he drops her off at her highrise. His eyes wander over her face, brimming with affection, and her breath catches just a little.

Yeah, this game plan is much better.

* * *

 

They’re in Denver, looking ahead to their last few weeks of the regular season, when Mike invites himself to her room to review hitters. The idea of Mike in her hotel room would typically give her  _ thoughts  _ in the abstract but they’ve been so focused on maintaining their division lead that her brain hasn’t been able to compute anything other than baseball as July melted into August.

“Desmond is slumping lately, so he’s hungry,” Mike declares, flipping through heat maps on his iPad.

“I know that, Lawson,” Ginny rolls her eyes and pushes off the small loveseat she’d claimed, leaving Mike to the desk. He has his feet propped up, leaning back in the desk chair. She knows it’s a matter of time before he nearly topples over. She takes her eye off him for a moment to grab another beer from the sixer he’d brought with him.

“Oh shit, the battery’s almost dead,” Mike mutters, shaking the device as if that would revive it. “Where’s yours?”

“Under your foot, old man.” Ginny takes a healthy swig of beer and rests her bottle on the glass coffee table with a clunk before making a clear point of sauntering over to him, snatching his iPad up, and plugging it into her charger. Mike doesn't seem to notice. He’s too busy trying to pull up all his charts and data on her device. She thinks it should bother her that he knows her passcode and feels no qualms about going into her email to download the scouting reports the stat guys sent to them but she finds it sweetly domestic, in a weird teammates sort of way of course.

“Uh. Ginny?”

Her heart stutters a bit at his use of her first name. “Yeah...?”

“What were you watching here?”

Ginny flushes from the top of her head down to her toes, an instant wash of fear and shame. Oh god. What was she looking at? Porn? No, not recently. The links to the sexy lingerie Evelyn had been sending her to convince her to spice up her wardrobe? Maybe. But that isn’t so embarrassing. Actually, it has the potential—

“ _ Ah, yes. Well, Michelle, you know how much I love Ginny Baker. _ ”

Fuck.  _ Fuck. _

Ginny knows her cheeks are blazing pink. Her mind races for a solid excuse. Something other than,  _ yeah, so I have that video permanently up on my browser it seems…. _

“Oh.” Her voice gives her away with its raspiness. She swallows hard. “Must’ve been watching some game analysis.”

“Uh huh,” Mike drops the iPad on the desk. He leans back in his chair, all smug. She narrows her eyes at him and wonders if she’d be able to give the chair a swift kick before he could react. “Do you watch my interviews a lot, Baker?”

“You wish.” Her breath is coming heavier now. The joke rings false in her ears, a crappy diversion. The air in her hotel room is suddenly thick and charged. His eyes are dark, intently focused on her, and she can’t help but stare back, tracking over his shoulders and his chest and, oh god, his thighs in those worn jeans just laid out for her like some goddamn prize.

His gaze drops to her lips. His expression loses all hints of humor. She struggles to inhale.

“I… I, uh, like that one though. You say some nice things about the team.” She finds herself taking small steps over to him. He watches her. Brings his body back to sitting. “It’s motivating.”

“Really?” A corner of his mouth quirks up. “I would’ve thought it’s what I said about you.”

Ginny stops just short of his knees. Taps her fingers on the desk. He’s looking up at her so sincerely that any any fear or doubt she’s been feeling about the moment is chased into the shadows of her mind.

Grinning, she plays dumb. “Me? You said something about  _ me _ ?”  She touches a hand to her chest and gives him a faux-shocked look. They both chuckle.

Mike stands up, slowly, so as not to disturb the moment. To give her a chance to back down. She doesn’t. She takes a step closer to him. He shuffles into her space, their toes nearly touching now. They breathe the same air in slow, shaky breaths. Electricity fizzles and sparks in their little orbit, daring them to fall, warning them to retreat. But they remain. They languish in it.

“I did,” he teases, tilting his head just so. Like he’s going to kiss her. A hand brushes her hip. Her eyelids flutter. “I think you know what I said, rookie,” his words whisper across her cheek. Heat radiates from his body and, damn, he smells so good…

“Fine,” she gives her head a little shake, huffing her words out in sheer annoyance of how frustrating she finds this moment. He wins. She anchors her hands to his biceps, not wanting him to pull away. “So I’m like fifteen and I can’t stop watching that stupid part of the interview where your stupid face says that you love me, okay?”

“That’s…” A hand squeezes her waist. He’s smiling now, the smile where his eyes wrinkle in the corner. “That’s adorable.” A calloused thumb brushes down her cheek. She shudders. “Did you play that clip on repeat while you pretend married my poster?” He’s sort of half laughing, half whispering and if she couldn’t feel the uneven rise and fall of his chest against hers, she would be afraid he is messing with her.

“I hate you so much.”

His hand on her jaw forces her to meet his gaze. The depth of feeling she finds there nearly melts her. “Hate me? Or maybe….?”

“Yes, fine, old man,” she hisses. “I love you, okay? Against all my better judgement and, really, logic and—

His lips on hers silence any further disclaimer.

* * *

 

“You love me?” He pulls away after a kiss that is only imperfect because it’s far too short.

Dazed, Ginny finds herself blinking at him, her lips chasing his mouth as her hands skim the muscles of his arms and back. Mike gently brushes the hair out of her face, his eyes searching hers.

She makes a face, feeling a bit like this is some weird dream. “Maybe just a little bit…”

He laughs; it lights up his eyes. Forehead leaning against hers, he runs a knuckle under her chin. “I had a feeling you might.” He brushes his lips over hers briefly. His hands frame her face then, holding her to him, as he drops kisses across her forehead and cheeks.

Gasping as his lips find her neck, Ginny bites her nails into his skin at the sensation. “Mike…?”

“Yeah, Gin…” His tongue finds a spot just under her ear that nearly collapses her knees. She leans into him completely— has he always smelled this good? Because he smells really, really good.

“Leave... _ ah _ … Leave a girl hanging here…” But she captures his lips again, needing to taste him, and this time doesn’t let him break the kiss before she gets her fill. They pull back, breathing heavily, but neither of them can seem to stop touching.

“Oh, Baker, I have no intention of leaving you hanging.” His smirk is downright devilish. She smacks his arm then kisses it off his face.

Breaking apart again, she keeps him at bay with a hand to his chest. Because she’s told him and though she doesn’t really need him to say it back…  (She needs him to say it.) “Mike…” she says and she hates that it’s a bit of a whine.

He doesn’t though. His eyes darken completely in response and she feels a shudder run through his body; a throb of arousal pierces her core in response.

“You wanna record it, rookie? For posterity?”  

She licks her lips. “You’re an asshole.” Threading her fingers through his beard, she gives him a gentle tug and likes how he grins in response.

“Just trying to add to your collection.” But he takes her hands in his, holding them close to his chest. She meets his gaze, steady, like this is just another call he’s throwing down. “Ginny Baker, against my better judgement—

She chuckles, trying to pull away from him. “I hate you. Truly. Really, I do.”

“Nope. You totally love me,” he affirms and only because he’s looking at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen does she not start punching. “And I really, truly love you too.”

She knows. And yet she can feel a smile erupt on her face; she automatically tries to pull a hand away to cover it but he doesn’t let her. “I knew you meant it!” She lets loose a loud laugh, just for him, and happy doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling she has right now. “And you told that reporter, and the world, before me! I can’t believe you!”

He’s laughing now too. He lets her hands go so he can grab her around the waist. “I think you’re the only person who noticed. And watched the tape a thousand times.”

Shaking her head, she brings her hands to rest on his chest. “You’re lucky no one else did.”

“It’s a common expression really,” he shrugs, tugging her closer. “I love baseball. I love beer. I love Ginny Baker; she’s this really amazing pitcher, you know. I mostly meant it in that context.”

“Yeah. Sure. Let’s go with that.” Rolling her eyes, she brings her head to rest on his shoulder, hugging him close. They fit together perfectly. For a long moment, neither of them speak. They just hold each other, their bodies swaying gently in the silence.

“Just a few more weeks left in the season…” Mike finally breaks the spell; he uses his captain’s voice and it really doesn’t make her want to let him go.

Ginny sighs. “Think you can keep your trap shut? Or are you going to propose to me during a presser?” 

With a chuckle, Mike slowly disengages from her. He drops one last kiss to her head. Ginny notes with pride the clear flush to his skin. “I don’t know. You get a microphone in my face—

“And you become a rambling mess?” Ginny smoothes her t-shirt over her leggings. She makes a face at the ensemble; Evelyn will be so disappointed.

“We don’t all get world class media training, you know. Though I like to think I’m a natural talent.” Mike fusses with gathering up his iPad and phone. He pats his pocket to be sure his keycard is still there. It is. (Ginny may have groped it a bit.) “I should probably go.”

It’s an awkward moment, yes. But necessary. Because all Ginny wants to do is kiss him some more. And there’s a bed like three feet from where they are standing. She’s pretty sure if she gets him horizontal, gets her hands anywhere near his skin, they aren’t coming up for air for a good long time. And he’s still her captain and teammate for another few weeks.

“Yeah,” Ginny nods tightly. Decidedly not teary. (Why, oh why tears?) She gives her eyes a quick swipe, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Mike. He returns to her side. She feels a little less pathetic when she sees his eyes glistening too. The big sap.

With a palm to her cheek, he presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She sniffles and, because he’s so close, pulls him in for another hug. She tries to ignore the cold, hard iPad jamming into her back. “Unless you made the media a bunch of prying, sexist jerkwads…”

He chuckles. “I’ll fight ‘em.”

She snorts into his chest. “Just a few more weeks…”

“It’ll definitely be October,” he promises, pulling back so she can read him better. “We’ll have matching rings, gaudy as hell, and I’ll announce my official retirement. Then I’m gonna take a nice long vacation, a secluded beach somewhere with crystal clear waters and umbrellas in my drinks. And a hammock. Definitely a hammock.”

“Got room in that hammock for two?” Ginny grins, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Depends. Got a bikini?” He counters, tugging her closer then quickly reestablishing distance. “Shit, Gin, I really have to go or else—

“I know,” she sighs. “We have to wait.”

She walks him to the door, sneaking a quick kiss to his cheek before he can escape. He leaves her with one last squeeze of her hand, his expression heavy. Ginny shuts the door behind him. Collapsing against it, she lets her body slide to the floor. Closes her eyes. Tries and fails not to replay the last hour over and over in her head, relishing every detail.

Across the room, her phone dings an alert. She reluctantly picks herself up and goes to check it. It’s an Instagram update from Mike. She opens the app to see what he’s posted then laughs into the stillness, loud and cackling. It’s a selfie of Mike laying on his hotel bed, heat pack over his shoulder, iPad on his chest displaying some unreadable statistics, and his Padres hat covering most of his face.  _ I love baseball _ is all it says.

Ginny writes back,  _ So random. I love baseball too _ .

Just a few more weeks. She can do that.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame my pocket friends. 
> 
> I realize there is little point to this and a whole lotta fluff. It started as a nugget of an idea, a ficlet at most, and became a monster for no reason. But our children deserve so much better than they got so. I'll let them be stupid happy.


End file.
